A fairground ride broke down and pleasure seekers were stuck on it for four hours. Pleasure seekers. They were looking for merriment but it ended up being too much for them. Too much, for too long. I wondered whether the ride was spinning… Spinning out of control… For the whole four hours. It horrified me. Then I realised it shouldn’t have. That’s life. You go looking for joy… You find it, at first… Then it spins out of control… And by the time you realise it, you can’t stop it.
It’s Shabbes afternoon and I’m left standing in my hall with a string of pearls wrapped round my fingers. Keys lie on the table. My eyes are blurry and I feel faint. I’m waiting for the pain to go away but instead I weep. I wonder if Hashem hears my pleas and I wonder if he’ll help me. I can’t imagine why. I’ve cried to him before, fallen on my knees and wept, poured out my heart and said Tehillim. It never worked. Did the rabbi give me a brocha this morning? Or is that just how he speaks? What does it matter, anyway? I lay the table for two. Even if no one were looking I would, though I know for sure one plate will be going straight in the sink. I don’t care. I wonder if I can open a can on shabbos, then flippantly I pull it open and I drink. Sweet lemon. I splutter and tears cloud my eyes again. I think back to last night. By now my eyes are red and raw from all the tears. But I don’t care. It’s the motivation which scares me. The fact I don’t have any motivation. I wrote that I have emunah. But I don’t think this is a shining example. I wonder if it really will get better.